


You'll Be With Me (Like a Handprint on My Heart)

by Celebrimbor1999



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous Relationship, Day Five Soulmates, Introspection, M/M, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Romantic or platonic, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Thank you Sherlock Manga, Writer's Month 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25739389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celebrimbor1999/pseuds/Celebrimbor1999
Summary: Sherlock never quite believed in soul mates – in feeling that elusive tug in his soul mark and finding his ‘other half’ – but if he had to chose someone to be bound with, John Watson would be his first and only choice. If only life was that easy. Writer’s Month 202 Day Five: Soulmates
Relationships: Kinda - Relationship, Sherlock Holmes & James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 63
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	You'll Be With Me (Like a Handprint on My Heart)

Sherlock never truly believed in soulmates.

That isn’t to say that he doesn’t believe in their existence – a metaphysical bond between two individuals, manifesting as a colourful handprint placed somewhere of significance to their relationship – as it had been well documented and the subject of thousands of research projects and papers over the centuries.

Unfortunately, it had also been the main plot point of various novels, movies and television shows. A soul mark became a marketable product, promoting true _love_ and _happily ever after_ and _second halves._ Sherlock’s first exposure to this was within the fairy tale of Cinderella – where her glass slippers revealed the handprint around her heel, and how the prince went made searching for the girl who _made his heart beat again._ Such things were hogwash.

Approximately 42% of marriages end in divorce. Over half of these are between soulmates. Of the other half, almost a third of them are caused by on person in the relationship finding their soulmate. Almost 60% of men cheat on their wife, and an undocumented amount of them involved soulmates on one side of the equation or the other.

Not exactly the perfect love story.

 _Soulmates,_ as Sherlock explained to his mother at the tender age of nine, _are a waste of time._ This proclamation came after his brother left – after Redbeard died – after he learned that _sentiment is weakness._

And what bigger sentiment than soulmates?

 _You’ll change your mind when you meet your soulmate,_ his mother explained with an expression of long-suffering (one she often wore around him). She had one hand around his leg, just above the bright red handprint that ringed his ankle. _They’re going to be a passionate one,_ she gushed. _They’re going to have to bet if they want to keep up with you!_

Her own soul mark was a deep blue, cupping the left side of her face. His father liked to cover it with his own hand at any opportunity. Mother would then wrap an arm around his waist, where a deep gold soul mark rested just above Father’s hip. Sherlock had never seen it, but Mother had described it so often that it resided in his mind palace, pride of place in his father’s room.

(Sherlock had never seen Mycroft’s soul mark. He had asked about it once, when he was five. He’d never asked again.)

His soul mark didn’t become an issue till he went to university. There, everyone wanted to know where his soul mark was – what colour was it – had he met his soul mate yet? After giving scathing and painfully true deductions about their sexual preferences, habits and feelings about their soul mate (whether they’d found them or not), the question’s stopped. After all…

_Who would want **Sherlock Holmes** as a soulmate?_

Well it seems, Sherlock thought slowly, _John Watson_ might.

They were laughing at a crime scene – something John was swatting at him for, telling him off, _no giggling near dead bodies Sherlock –_ when one of Scotland Yard’s ‘finest’ walked past with a sneer.

“Wish Lestrade would keep Holmes and his _soulmate_ away from our fuckin’ cases.”

Sherlock immediately sobered. John, always attentive to his mood, met his eyes before turning away.

“Oi!”

The hapless uniform turned around and immediately regretted it.

“I don’t give two shits about what you think of me but leave Sherlock alone. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have _found_ this body, let alone had the chance to catch the bloody bastard who did it. If keeping your mouth _closed_ is too difficult, try to _not_ aim it at us.” John was standing with both feet planted, arms crossed and angled slightly towards Sherlock, like he was ready to jump in and _physically_ protect him.

When he didn’t get a response soon enough, John barked, “Understand?”

The officer nodded, saluted, and scrambled.

John huffed. “Hate bastards like that. Don’t know how you put up with it Sherlock.”

Sherlock opened his mouth – to thank John, ask him if it was true, if John was his soul mate, he wasn’t sure yet – but Sally got in first.

“So you _are_ his soulmate? The whole precinct’s been wondering.”

“That’s none of your business Sergeant Donovan,” John said in his ‘Captain’ voice. “You have about as much right to details of my relationship with Sherlock as I do to your relationship with Anderson.” As Sally began to squawk, John turned to him. “Are you ready to leave?”

Sherlock nodded wordlessly and went to hail a cab.

_Was John his soul mate?_

Later on, after the end of a successful case, Sherlock sat in his chair while John dozed across from him. In his mind palace, he reviewed every piece of information he had on soul mates.

**No guarantee that soul mates will meet… Soul marks colour and placement are of significance to the relationship shared… Once meeting one’s soul mate, a person can have a variety of reactions… A soul bond will be created upon meeting, although the intensity and depth of development can vary… some people have reported suddenly feeling their soul mates’ emotions… others reported a tingling in their mark… a pulling sensation within their soul mark has been described by some, often in fantastical terms such as ‘it was like our marks were magnets, trying to pull us together’, ‘a red strong of fate kind of think’, and ‘I can always find my soul mate now, I just need to follow that pull’…**

Sherlock moved to John’s section of his mind palace to review their first meeting. There had been interest, curiosity about this person who so clearly was suffering from a psychosomatic limp, the cautious hope of something to help abate the boredom… but none of those correlated with evidence of a soul bond.

Yet why else would John stay?

Now that the prospect had been drawn to his attention, it would not leave. Sherlock would watch as John seemed to anticipate his needs, accurately judge his temper to determine whether to divert Anderson away from the scene or not, and most telling of all – no matter how many times Sherlock played the violin at 2 am, no matter how many body parts were left in the fridge, no matter how many times he’d interrupted dates for Johns’ (not completely necessary) assistance with a case, John didn’t leave.

And yet, Sherlock felt nothing.

No tingling.

No emotions outside his own.

No pull.

Could it be that John was his soulmate, but Sherlock wasn’t his? Or was he just too _freakish,_ too _damaged_ to register a soul bond. Maybe he was incapable of making one at all.

At least, that’s what he thought till he met Jim from IT. When Jim crossed behind him and bumped the dish, Sherlock felt a strong _tug,_ like someone had grabbed his ankle and _pulled._ For a moment, he thought that Jim had ‘accidently’ twisted his feet to hit Sherlocks’, but he wasn’t close enough. Not to mention, after further examination, the sensation was less of a _tug_ and more of a _draw,_ like his ankle was a metal filling being drawn to a magnet.

The feeling didn’t leave until Jim did.

Sherlock was very careful to hide his revelation from John, and he put it in the back of his mind palace to be examined later. The likelihood of him meeting Jim from IT again was minimal – especially if Molly ended their relationship.

And then there was that tugging sensation again. At the pool. As John stood with ten pounds of Semtex strapped to his chest.

“Did I make such a fleeting impression Sherlock dear?” Moriarty said gleefully. “I thought you felt that _tug_ too – pulling us together. But I suppose you did the smart thing and ignored it.” As Sherlock lifted the gun, a cluster of red dots appeared over John’s heart. “Don’t be silly Sherlock, someone else is holding the rifle. I’m not a fan of getting my hands dirty.

“I’ve given you a glimpse,” Moriarty said dramatically, pacing back and forth. “Just a _teensy_ glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the _big, bad world._ You see, I’m a specialist… just. Like. You.” A grin spread across his face. “ _Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me, to get rid of my lover’s nasty sister? Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear into South America?_ I’m just like you Sherlock – the opposite side of your coin.”

“A consulting criminal.” Sherlock said flatly. “Brilliant.” He wished that it wasn’t. He wished in a way he hadn’t wished since he was a child, to stop feeling that damning tug against his ankle.

“Isn’t it? No one ever gets to me, and no one ever will.” Moriarty looked unbearably smug.

“I did.”

Something dangerous flashed in Moriarty’s face – the closest thing to a true emotion he’d seen on the other man’s face. “You’ve come the closest… But now you’re in my way. And being my _soul mate_ isn’t going to change that.” He held up his hand, the one that had stayed in his pocket the entire time. Flashing back to ‘Jim from IT’, he noticed that his hand had very much stayed out of sight then too.

And for good reason.

A mottled grey and black handprint sat along the grooves and lines of Moriarty’s own fingers. They wiggled. “Like it, Sherlock? I tell everyone that it’s because my soul mate died – pretty sure Johnny boy here can tell you how that feels.”

And indeed, John’s face fell, and his hands twitched. One shoulder ducked for a moment, as if to protect it.

“But no, I was just saving it for you. Know what black and grey means Sherlock? Death and decay. That’s what our relationship is. I am willing to kill anyone and everyone in my way – I cut loose _all_ those people, threw in thirty million quid, just to get you to _play_ with me. So here’s a friendly warning, darling… Back off. Although I’ve _adored_ this little game of ours, playing the friendly IT guy for the lovely Molly, I’ve got bigger and better things to do.”

“ _People have died for your game!”_ The words slipped out of Sherlock’s mouth. He was off balance – he needed to calm himself. Otherwise John might not be getting out of this alive.

“That’s what people do!” There was something derivative in Moriarty’s face, in the crinkle of his nose and curl of his lips. “They live and they die and they never amount to anything but momentary distractions.”

“I will stop you.”

Moriarty almost looked surprised. “No you won’t. Two sides of a coin remember – we’re _destined_ to challenge each other forever. You should be excited! I can make sure you’re _never_ bored again Sherlock.” He stepped closer and leaned over John’s shoulder. Sherlock stiffened at the proximity. “You’re awfully quiet Johnny boy. Go on, speak!”

Sherlock spared John a glance. “You alright?” His response was a nod. Sherlock flicked the flash drive in Moriarty’s direction. “Take it.”

He caught it with frustrating ease. “Oh, those! The missile plans!” He pressed the drive to his lips – possibly in an attempt to look coy, but it just turned Sherlock’s stomach – and flicked it back. “I could have gotten them from anywhere.”

It was only chance that had Sherlock locking eyes with John. That’s the only reason he wasn’t surprised by him catching Moriarty in a reverse bear hug the man looked all too prepared for.

“If your sniper pulls the trigger _Jim,_ then we both go up.” John snarled. In that moment, Sherlock could see what war had made him.

“Awww, isn’t that _sweet!_ I see why you keep him around darling. No wonder people think such a _boorish_ person is your soulmate! Such loyalty can be touching, but… _you’ve shown your hand Johnny boy.”_

From the way John’s face grew tight with concern and anger, Sherlock could deduce that a sniper beam was aimed at _him_ too. John let go and stepped back. There was a glint in his eye. This wasn’t surrender, but a tactical retreat.

Moriarty dusted himself off fastidiously. “Do you know what’s going to happen to you if you don’t leave me alone Sherlock?”

He rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, you’ll kill me?”

“Kill you? Don’t be so predictable. I mean, it’s a given that one day, I’ll be responsible for your demise, but that will be a _special_ occasion. Not something to be rushed. No, if you don’t stop _prying_ into my business… I’ll _burn you.”_ Moriarty’s face went dark as he snarled, “I will _burn the heart out of you.”_

“I have been reliably informed,” Sherlock said with pseudo-calmness, “That I don’t have one.”

Moriarty huffed and looked deliberately at John. “We both know that’s not _quite_ true. How much did it hurt, Sherlock, to find out that you’re not John Watson’s soulmate?” He didn’t give Sherlock a chance to answer before waving a hand. “I’d better be off. It was _so nice_ to have a proper chat with my soulmate.”

Sherlock’s finger twitched on the trigger. “What if I was to shoot you, right now.”

“Hmmm… you could cherish the look of surprise on my face,” Moriarty said with an overly dramatic face – all raised eyebrows and rounded mouth. “Because it _would_ be a surprise Sherlock, and perhaps a disappointment. Not to mention that fact that you wouldn’t be _cherishing_ it for very long. Do you _really_ think you can kill your soul mate? Kill your _other half._ I’ve heard that it can cause excruciating pain – huh Johnny boy?” With a finger on his chin, he thought for a moment. “It would be interesting to experience I suppose, but that’s a thought for another time.”

Moriarty flicked two fingers in a salute. “Ciao, Sherlock Holmes!” He disappeared around a corner.

As soon as he was out of sight, Sherlock scrambled to pull the coat and explosives off John. “Are you okay? Alright?” As he tugged at the sleeves, he couldn’t help but glance John over. _No obvious wounds…_

“I’m okay Sherlock, I’m fine!” At a particularly harsh tugged, John yelled over his shoulder, “ _Sherlock!”_

He flung the now loose coat away, catching John’s collapse in the corner of his eye. He was panting. “Are you,” He huffed between breaths, “… okay?”

“Me? I’m fine.” Sherlock took a few steps closer. “That – that thing – that you did…” Words didn’t seem to want to come out of his mouth, “That thing you did – _offered_ to do – that was good.”

“I’m glad no one saw that.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the non sequitur.

John huffed out a breath of laughter. “You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.”

Something lightened in his chest at the smile John sent him. He got the message – _we’re okay._ “They do little else,” He said, for lack of a better response.

Then the lights returned to John’s chest, and that damnable tug at Sherlock’s ankle nearly pulled him off balance.

_Moriarty!_

************

After they dug themselves out of the wreckage, after the paramedics gave them a relatively clean bill of health, after Lestrade confirmed his presence for the next day regarding Moriarty, John and Sherlock returned to Baker Street.

Flopping into his armchair, Sherlock watched as John made up two cups of tea. His hands were steady as he handed one over, his movements measured as he sat down and took a sip.

“So,” He began slowly. “I take it you weren’t aware of having a psychopathic soul mate?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John’s uncharacteristic bluntness regarding the situation before responding in kind. “Aside from a tug at my soul mark when we met in the hospital, I was under the impression that I didn’t _have_ a soul mate.”

“And… that thing about you _not_ being my soul mate…?”

He stiffened. “Moriarty was trying to get a rise out of me.” He was loath to confess that it worked.

There was silence for a moment. Sherlock itched to get out his violin, create the most chaotic melodies, the harshest tunes to try and release the turmoil in his chest.

“I never bought into the whole soul mate thing,” John said as he looked up. “My parents were soul mates, but that didn’t stop them from getting into rows loud enough to shake the house. Harry found her soul mate in Clara, but her drinking problem stopped them from creating a deeper bond.” He took a deep breath. “In the army, you try not to think of your soul mates. Some guys I knew deliberately _avoided_ anyone who they thought might be their soul mate – anyone who made their mark tingle even slightly, anyone with a similar coloured mark – because they knew what would happen if they died in combat.

“I was one of the lucky ones – or unlucky ones, depending on who you asked. I met my soul mate on my first tour in Afghanistan, and we managed to serve together for _years._ We weren’t lovers,” He said in response to Sherlock’s unanswered question. “That’s something else I’ve always hated about the soul mate thing – everyone assumes that once you meet, you immediately shag. Arthur and I weren’t ever like that. We were close – closer than anyone else – we could just about read each other’s minds and saved each other’s arse a dozen times over.”

John slowly began to unbutton his shirt. “I know you’ve been curious about my bullet wound.” Sherlock almost didn’t want to look. John spread the fabric out, pulling the sleeve of his under shirt down and away. The entry wound was at the front – something that surprised him, given that John wasn’t one to run away – and something must have shown on his face, because John smiled ruefully.

“Arthur had gone down. Damn insurgents got in a lucky shot to his leg. I was stabilising him when I was sniped. If it wasn’t for Arthur pulling my sideways, I wouldn’t be here today.” He paused for a moment and breathed deep. “It was a through and through shot – and when Arthur pulled, he – it –”

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly. He could imagine the bullet exiting John’s body and hitting the person beneath.

“If you look closely – actually, come here for a second…” John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and pulled him off the chair. His vision whited out for a moment – that warmth against his skin, so hot compared to his own cooler temperature, shocked him. He came back to the feeling of a strong beat under his fingers. He spread them unconsciously and felt the pitted skin. John moved his hand a little, waited, and shifted it another way. “Can you feel it?”

He could. Underneath the exit wound was _another_ wound. It was irregularly shaped, four streaks coming from a larger area that covered the ball of John’s shoulder, before another streak went towards his shoulder blade… his hand stilled. “Is this….?”

John nodded. “Yeah. When your soulmate dies, all the colour leaves your mark like it’s been burned away. It causes a lot of pain, which is why older soul mate couples tend to pass on at the same time – the strain is too much for their hearts to handle.”

_I’ll burn the heart out of you!_

Sherlock’s hand gripped tighter. “John…”

A hand covered his. Another slipped under his arm and around his shoulders. He was tugged forward to collapse against John’s chest. His heartbeat was so loud.

“I never denied being your soul mate Sherlock,” John whispered, “Because I don’t believe that a person has one soul mate in their life. I don’t believe that you need a _mark_ to tell you how important you are to a person – you don’t need a _mark_ to love them.” When Sherlock shuddered, John held on tighter. “Just because your mark pulls you to Moriarty, doesn’t mean that you’re _anything_ like him. He is a deranged psychopath, and you are going to catch him. You’re going to _beat_ him. And I’m going to be right there with you.”

“Why?” Sherlock breathed. “You’ve already been hurt because of me – you were _kidnapped –”_

“Because you’re Sherlock. You’re this beautiful, impossible man who saw a broken soldier and showed him that there was more to life than dingy bedsits and flu season. You _saw_ me Sherlock, and I’d like to think that I see you.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed. Slowly, his arm wrapped around John’s waist, and he shifted to sit more comfortably in the other man’s lap. His head lifted enough to sit on John’s shoulder, and John tilted his head to press his lips into dirty curls.

“Just rest Sherlock. We can deal with everything else in the morning.”

“Thank you… John…”

_Sherlock Holmes didn’t believe in soulmates. But he believed in John Watson. And that was kinda the same thing._

**Author's Note:**

> And here is yet another day for Writer’s Month! I hope everyone liked the little twist I chucked in there – I felt that there were a lot of Johnlock soulmate fics, but not enough where they weren’t actually soulmates, so… yeah. Poor Sherlock. If you recognise what Moriarty and all that are saying in the pool seen, you would be correct, I did take it from the pool scene. Specifically the pool scene written/drawn in the incredible manga adaption by Moffat, Gatiss, Thompson and Jay. I did try to change things up – and obviously the soul mate bits were mine – but anything recognisable is property of Moffat and Sherlock, so there you go. I did leave the relationship kinda ambiguous – I don’t feel that John and Sherlock would ever be your conventional romantic couple – Sherlock’s always seemed like a bit of a non-entity when it comes to sex, with platonic/romantic actions being more up his alley. So… asexual, basically? I may be projecting a little.   
> Anyway, as always, come yell at me on tumblr (@Celebrimbor97) or in a review, because I’d love to know what you think!  
> Fic title is from ‘For Good’ from Wicked the Musical. I think it’s worth a listen ^u^


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